


shot through the heart (and you're to blame)

by sludgeraptor



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem 外伝 | Fire Emblem Gaiden
Genre: (on gray. not alm. even then not really i just dont have the time to add him), Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Unrequited Crush, gay archery (gaychery), teenage gay crises are my specialty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sludgeraptor/pseuds/sludgeraptor
Summary: “I came to you because Python has soundly refused to do any extra work, going as far as to mount his horse and ride away when I asked,” Lukas admits, cringing harder. It’s the most emotion Tobin has ever seen him show. “But you’re just as good at the bow as he is, and you’ve known Alm far longer…”Oh.Oh nowayin hell.(Tobin's roped into giving Alm archery lessons. It's not quite what he asked for, but at least Alm is an eager student.)





	shot through the heart (and you're to blame)

**Author's Note:**

> i started this last year (!!) around finals time because i didn't want to study for japanese and it just kinda spiraled from there. i've been working on it for way too long, i just wanna get it Out There  
> even then i will never in my life edit anything, apparently, so if this has any mistakes my b

“Tobin,” Lukas says, grabbing his arm gently and pulling him aside. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Tobin would very much love to say ‘no, actually, I am relaxing and would like to continue relaxing’, or ‘actually I’m busy not dealing with army duties for the rest of the night, sorry’, but his mouth, propelled by the possibility of a raise, says, “Sure. What’s up?”

“Well,” Lukas sighs. “You are aware that Alm has...taken up archery.”

Tobin scoffs. Lukas’ cringe tells all. Sure, Alm has a bow now, but ‘taken up archery’? His hit rate is lower than the floor. Tobin and Python sure as hell ain’t perfect, but they at least knew what they were doing, and actually took people out more than once a blue moon, if the planets are aligned just so. 

“Yes,” Lukas continues, before Tobin can voice this disbelief, “I agree. He is, so far...less than proficient.”

“You don’t have to mince it. He’s terrible,” Tobin says, face splitting into a grin despite his better judgement. “I don’t think he’s hit a single living thing the whole time he’s had the damn bow. Honestly, he should just give up! Leave it to the professionals.” 

To Tobin’s surprise, Lukas nods again. “I agree. Unfortunately, my saying so only made him more insistent that he would ‘get it’.”

Yeah, that sounds about right.

“I came to you because Python has soundly refused to do any extra work, going as far as to mount his horse and ride away when I asked,” Lukas admits, cringing harder. It’s the most emotion Tobin has ever seen him show. “But you’re just as good at the bow as he is, and you’ve known Alm far longer…”

Oh.

Oh no  _ way _ in hell.

“Look, I...Stuff between me and Alm, it’s complicated, okay?” Tobin admits. He swallows hard. Alm outclassed him in everything they were good at. Swordplay, public speaking, general charisma and overall hair quality. Archery was the one thing Tobin had that Gray and Alm hadn’t claimed too. The thought of ruining that of his own volition was just... “As much as I wanna help the army and all, are you sure there’s no other way he can be convinced it’s a bad idea?”

“Yes,” Lukas says, voice turning grave. “Clive, Mathilda, and I have tried for days.”

Ah.

“Tobin, I assure you, we will not allow you to go uncompensated for your service. You are a very skilled soldier, and an even more proficient archer.” Lukas lets go of Tobin’s arm, crossing it behind his back in that pose he’s always doing where he looks like he just caught you returning home at 3am on a school night. “It won’t take very long under your guiding hand, and gold will be provided.”

Tobin groans, dragging his hand down his face.

“Yes. Alright. Fine. Will do,” Tobin agrees. 

Lukas lights up (as much as he can), smiling. “Thank you, Tobin. I’ll inform Alm about the arrangement.”

As Tobin watches Lukas go, he feels his heart sink in his chest. 

What had he gotten himself into?

***

When Tobin leaves his tent for breakfast, he nearly bumps headfirst into Alm.

“Augh!” Alm cries, jumping backwards. 

He’s not in his usual armour, instead having apparently borrowed an archer’s uniform from Python. It fits funny on him, loose and baggy around the chest and too tight on the arms, accentuating the curve of his bicep and leading Tobin’s eyes back up to Alm’s neck, uncharacteristically pale for a Zofian, up to his jawline and soft lips, kinda chapped after all the travWHOAhoho yeah he, uh. Women. Girls. Clair. Girls. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Tobin asks, after a too long pause.

“Lukas told me we were training together today,” Alm says, clutching at his chest like he’s an old woman who just saw a particularly low-cut shirt.

“Gods. First thing in the morning?” Tobin sighs. He clears his throat, peering around Alm. “I was planning on, uh. Eating. Before doing anything.”

Alm looks over his shoulder to follow Tobin’s gaze. Which really was going nowhere in particular. He turns back around. “Can’t we get started before you eat?”

“...How long have you been out here, Alm?” Tobin asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Uh,” Alm says, scratching his cheek. “Since dawn, I think.”

...It’s on. He might be tired and dirty and half-dressed, but fuck if it is not  _ on _ now, Alm is gonna regret even  _ trying _ to be conscientious, Tobin is gonna out-conscientious the  _ hell _ out of him until he forgets what the word ‘deadlines’ means.

“Alright,” Tobin agrees, setting his jaw. “Yeah. Alright. Wait here. I’m gonna get my bow. Or- Or actually. Why don’t you go down to the practice range and try some yourself? See if maybe you can hit something.” He laughs in a way that’s almost desperate, eager for Alm to be offended. 

Alm isn’t. He lights up, grinning that dumb toothy grin of his. “Alright! I’ll see you there!”

Tobin watches Alm sprint away. His chest feels warm, constricted.

He’s just ready to win. Shaking his head, he re-enters his tent to get changed.

***

“Wrong.”

“I’m  _ trying _ !” 

“Yeah? Well, you’re still wrong. Observe.”

Alm huffs as he watches Tobin nock another arrow, face set in grim determination. Alm has never seen him quite so fiery as when he’s supposed to be gently guiding Alm into the vague realm of Not Sucking At Bows Or Whatever, which is kind of concerning to him.

But whatever. If it’ll stop everyone worrying about his performance, he’ll do it.

Tobin narrows his eyes at the target, biting his lip a little. Suddenly, he releases the string, and the arrow flies in a perfect arc into the target. 

It’s not a bullseye, but given Alm’s tens of arrows littered around the target with not a single hitting, it might as well be.

Tobin chuckles (who chuckles? He must be doing that on purpose) and lets his arms fall to his sides. “See? Focus, aim, release. It’s all in the visualisation.”

“I  _ am _ visualising,” Alm insists, miserably. “I’m telling you, your method isn’t working for me. You’ve barely taught me anything at all!”

Tobin looks taken aback by that. “Taught you-” His eyes widen, and then he shakes his head. “I’ve taught you plenty!”

“Telling me you’re better at me at archery and showing it off repeatedly doesn’t count,” Alm groans. “Tobin, come on. Can you forget the whole...thing that you have with me? What if I never get better at this? We could need it, and then I’d have screwed up. Let everyone down.”

Tobin, once more, looks shocked. Like he hadn’t even considered that this had a purpose besides letting him enjoy Alm failing.

“Alright,” Tobin sighs. “Okay. Here.” He hands Alm the bow. “We’re gonna try this again. I’m gonna walk you through it.”

Alm nods, taking the bow and getting into position. 

“First we need to find out which stance you prefer,” Tobin says. He lines up behind Alm, gently using his foot to widen Alm’s stance. “Squared, open, or closed. Squared, your feet are in line with each other, perpendicular to the target. Like now.”

Alm nods. He furrows his brow at the target. The single arrow sticking out of it like a challenge.

Tobin leans down and gently nudges his knees forward. “Slight bend to absorb shock,” he says as he stands back up, hands going to Alm’s shoulders. “You’re already looking towards the target, so that’s fine. But, man, you’re way too tense here. Just, uh...,” Tobin pushes down, forcing Alm to relax some. Alm lets out a slow breath through his nose.

“Yeah,” Tobin smiles, hands sliding down and off of Alm. “Now you’re getting it. Try again.” He reaches down into the small pile of arrows that used to be a rather large pile of arrows and hands one to Alm.

Alm nocks the bow, drawing the string back. He’s still not used to the resistance, the way it drags. It’s not like a sword at all - swords feel as fluid as water in his hands, whereas drawing the bow feels like slogging through sand. He narrows his eyes, trying to shake those thoughts away. He locks his eyes on the target, adjusting his aim some. 

Focus, aim, release.

He lets the arrow fly, spirit soaring on the sheer promise that this holds. He might make it! It’s not going wide or too low or anything! He thinks it’s gonna hit! It  _ will _ ! It’s going to-

It brushes the top of the target and flies into the woods behind.

Alm deflates with a sigh, near dropping the bow in his misery.

“Wow,” Tobin agrees, wincing. “Yeah, that, uh. I mean...That was an improvement! Maybe the other stances will suit you better.”

“Doubt it,” Alm groans, ruffling his own hair in his frustration.

“Hey now,” Tobin begins, seeming unsure how to comfort someone he’d spent the last hour or so berating (and clearly enjoying it). “It’s not so bad. You almost made that one! Like, you’re never gonna be as good at it as me, but that’s to be expected, right?”

Alm groans again. 

Tobin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alm, as much as I can’t believe I’m saying this, you can’t give up now. It’s like you said. If you’re gonna insist on keeping this archery stuff up, you have to get good at it. You’ve done badly this whole time, but you actually almost hit it then. Come on. Let’s try again.”

Alm drags his hands down his cheeks, making a very comical irritated sound, but then nods. “Fine. Yeah. Okay, you’re right. Let’s go.”

***

“How is this  _ possible _ ?” Tobin asks, looking around the archery range.

Alm wishes he knew. Despite them breaking more than once to pick up all the arrows they’d already used and starting over, and the missed arrows now being a bit closer to the target, the target itself still remains woefully empty. They’ve tried every stance over and over, and Alm can’t seem to find a preference. Nor can he get used to the feel of a bow, nor can he copy Tobin’s many, many demonstrations.

“Hopeless,” Alm says, dropping onto the ground and curling his legs up. “It’s hopeless.” 

“It’s...I mean...It can’t be  _ hopeless _ ...,” Tobin tries, cringing. “You really have been improving. And your...range, at least, is...good?”

“We had to walk for ten minutes to find one arrow,” Alm groans back, flopping so he’s splayed like a starfish on the ground.

“Yeah! That’s sniper level range right there,” Tobin laughs, clearly uncomfortable. “If we could just get you a sniper’s aim...,”

Alm rolls onto his side with another groan. 

“Oookay. Let’s go get you some food before you waste away trying to hit this thing,” Tobin sighs, leaning down to grab Alm’s arm and drag him to his feet. “You’re probably fatigued from doing this without any breaks or food or sleep.” 

“I slept!” Alm protests, allowing himself to be pulled up anyway.

“You’ve been up since dawn,” Tobin retorts. 

“I mean - well, that - I was just excited to -” Alm shakes his head, sighing. “You’re right. I shouldn’t behave childish. Let’s go.” He finishes standing up. Tobin leaves his hand on Alm’s arm.

“Yeah,” Tobin agrees, smiling encouragingly. “We’re real adults now.”

Alm is suddenly struck by how much like an adult Tobin is. Even before they left, he was working in town to provide for his family. That was why he left, too. Tobin’s motivation for leaving home is rooted in a world that Alm never had to think about. Still doesn’t have to think about. And since they’d left, Tobin seemed to have grown more than anyone else, even if his face was the same; his eyes held this kind of understanding that none of the others had yet. It’s something Alm sees in Lukas and Clive and the other older members of the resistance. An acceptance, maybe, of the world, of the way it worked.

And now that Alm looked closer, Tobin’s eyes were a deep brown, earthy and comforting. They’re similar in colour to his hair, framing his face, his striking nose and round cheeks, olive skin and freckles all coming together to form a very unique profile: a face fitting of Tobin’s own nature. Tobin is someone you could make a home with, someone steady and reliable who also works to go above and beyond. He’s someone Alm is suddenly finding himself drawn to, someone-

“Hey, dude?” Tobin says, looking a little off-put. “Is there something on my face?”

“Huh?” Alm snaps out of it, blinking. “Wh...No. Why?”

“Well.” Tobin adjusts his grip on Alm’s arm. “You’ve been staring at me. Is the thing.”

“Oh,” Alm says, feeling his cheeks go hot. “Have I really? Sorry. There’s nothing on your face. My bad.”

“Nooooo problem. Let’s go, uh. Find some food.” Tobin looks down at his hand on Alm’s arm and his eyes widen. He swallows hard and drops his hand, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it as he leads Alm back.

...Well.

***

Alm sits next to Tobin after grabbing his food, cross-legged on the ground with his serving in his lap. 

They’re outside because it’s warm and sunny in Rigel for once - a rare treat since leaving Zofia. Tobin is sitting legs straight out in the dying grass, arms positioned defensively around his plate as if he’s waiting for someone to try and steal his food. Alm is tempted to go for it just to see that offended face Tobin is so fond of making (because the way Tobin’s eyes blow wide and he scoffs angrily is far more interesting to Alm than his own meal), but something stops him. The way Tobin’s eyebrows knit together and his mouth twitches down into a worried little look, staring at something.

Alm follows his gaze. Clair and Gray sit across from them, talking animatedly about something. It’s hard to hear them over the general camp chatter, but the way Gray leans up to listen closely to Clair, who sits on a rock as if it were a throne, legs pressed together primly and back straight as she gestures wildly to accentuate her point, is...It makes Alm squint, like he’s not sure he’s seeing it right. 

“I didn’t know they were friends,” he says, turning to Tobin. Tobin jumps, flushing instantly.

“Yeah,” Tobin agrees. “Yeah. Yep. I mean. He could hang out with us. The guys he’s known forever. Especially since I’m like, his best friend. But I guess she’s more important to him.”

The bitterness that bleeds into Tobin’s voice makes Alm frown. “Why would she be more important?”

Tobin looks Alm over, disbelieving that anyone could miss it, that anyone couldn’t see what is apparently right in front of them. “Nevermind. Forget it. He just - I mean - no, nevermind.” He shovels some overcooked rabbit meat into his mouth, then sets his plate aside and wipes his mouth. “Let’s get back to it,” he says, standing up.

Alm wants to protest, but Tobin seems uncomfortable now. Stress is visible in every line of his body. So he just shrugs, following Tobin’s lead.

Something nags at the back of his mind, but...

Eh. It’s probably not important.

***

Over the next week or so, Alm’s aim improves considerably. Tobin manages to convince him to no longer use his bow in battle, which he’s sure has helped. Without that pressure imminent over his head, he can focus better. Tobin, loathe as he is to say it, is almost proud.

The pride is wiped out by how jittery he gets when having to train Alm, though. When he fixes Alm’s form, adjusting Alm’s arms and having his fingers brush against those goddamn biceps, standing behind Alm with hands on his shoulders trying to focus on the way Alm grips his bow, seeing if it needs adjustment, but instead letting his eyes wander over Alm’s neck, wondering at what would happen if made some sort of move, leaning altogether too close and then too far away because he hates himself and he hates the way he can’t refocus on Clair when they’re all alone because nobody uses the archery range except for them (as if Python would ever practice) and it’s harder when he can’t drag his eyes to someone else, reluctantly as he may, and... 

Gods, what’s wrong with him?

He pokes at the soup Silque has made for dinner (it’s her turn on cooking duty, which is good, because he’s had enough of cooking for a bunch of people after his home life, thanks very much), mind swirling with these thoughts.

Alm is going to approach him soon and ask to train and Tobin is going to say yes and he’s going to hate himself. They’re going to practice until Alm’s arms are jelly and Tobin is going to lavish him with praise and he’s going to hate himself. Alm is going to gush about how helpful Tobin has been and Tobin is going to have to swallow down his pounding heart and he’s going to hate himself.

He attempts to stab a piece of meat with his spoon. It slides away, bumping the edge of the bowl. Somehow this is incredibly frustrating instead of a normal demonstration of physics. He stabs it again, and it slides once more. Making a frustrated noise, he starts hacking at the meat with his spoon, which clearly gets him nowhere, but feels pretty fucking apt for his entire pitiful life-

“Hey, Tobin?”

Tobin jumps, yelping and nearly dropping his bowl. Oh, goddamnit. It’s Alm.

“What's up?” Tobin asks, forcing himself to relax. 

Alm does not seem convinced. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to train when you're done, but if you don't feel like it-”

Tobin is about to say maybe they should skip it for today when he hears Clair giggling and Gray’s deep, slightly anxious laugh, the kind he reserves for her, and without thinking he spits out “No, I do. I’d love to train. I actually just got done.”

Alm gives Tobin a wide eyed look as he stands up, slurping down the rest of the soup in one go and dumping the bowl wayside. 

Tobin is almost scared he’s been too obvious and that Alm Knows and hates Tobin as much as Tobin does, but his naïveté shines through. “Alright. You're eager today,” he observes, smiling just a little.

If it were anyone else, Tobin would begrudge them their ignorance. Hate them for not even trying to ask how he’s feeling. 

Unfortunately for him, Alm isn't anyone else.

And wasn't that just his whole dilemma?

***

When they reach the practice range, despite knowing it will be empty, it being empty feels...wrong. It feels too private, too clandestine. Too much like a meeting place that Gray and Clair would go to in order to-

He shudders as he leads Alm in. Nevermind.

“You okay?” Alm asks. 

“I’m fine,” Tobin replies, maybe too quickly. He goes to retrieve his bow, as well as the bow Alm has been using for practice.

“Are you cold?” Alm insists, shadowing Tobin. He holds his hand out for the bow, and Tobin hands it to him as even as his escape plan forms in real time.

“Yes,” he agrees, suppressing a smile. “Yes, I am. It’s damned cold tonight. Maybe we should head back after-”

Before Tobin can finish that genius suggestion, Alm is shrugging off the cape Faye sewed for him, the one he’s worn every day of the past week (giving Faye at least five consecutive heart attacks). It leaves him looking oddly exposed, his ill-fitting archer’s uniform pulling back the proverbial curtain and revealing once more the curvature of his muscles. The fragility in how he shivers at the wind. It’s so contrary to the image he puts out now.

He hands the cloak to Tobin with a gentle smile. Tobin takes it, hands trembling.

“Thanks,” he says, trying not to feel nauseated or curious or maybe both? Then reality strikes him in the head with a shovel. Seven times. Consecutively.

Why has he taken this. Why’s he allowed this to happen.

“Something wrong?” Alm asks, giving Tobin a soft look, always a soft look with him, he’s always so goddamn soft. Tobin’s heart is racing and he wants to be brave and do something stupid like other teenagers are allowed to do, like he bets  _ Gray _ lets himself do, he wants to impress Alm and knock him off his feet and be impressive and cool and-

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice cracking. “I’m fine. I’m great.”

“Alright, cool. Because you just looked kind of like-” 

Tobin leans down to kiss Alm, too quick, too eager, and their noses bump together at all the wrong angles and he’s pretty sure his teeth clash against Alm’s lips and oh sweet dearest mother Mila,  _ why has he allowed this to happen? _

“Shit,” he manages, stumbling back. Alm is staring at him with wide eyes, gaping jaw. “I’m - I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know why I...I’ll just go, I’ll-”

Alm, it turns out, is just as clumsy as Tobin is when it comes to initiating a kiss. 

He grabs Tobin’s shoulders, stepping on his tippy toes (which he doesn’t need to, really, the height difference isn’t that extreme) to press his mouth against Tobin’s. Their noses bump again and there’s way too many teeth involved. But, as Tobin knows well by now, Alm is nothing if not determined. He adjusts the kiss until it’s something resembling a kiss and not just an impromptu percussion performance using only the sound of their mouths clashing together awkwardly at all the wrong angles.

And good Gods if Tobin doesn’t just about melt. 

When Alm breaks the kiss, he hovers close so that Tobin can feel Alm’s breath on his lips.

“Oh,” he says, incredibly intelligently.

“Uh,” Alm replies, with biting wit.

“...I thought you liked Celica,” Tobin manages, after the silence hangs between them for a bit. 

“I thought I did, too,” Alm admits, cringing. “But how can I? I mean, I knew her for such a short time. And then when we saw each other again, we fought, and it wasn’t at all like I was building it up in my mind and it was just super unrealistic because I was clinging to this childhood fantasy and…”

He trails off, and Tobin gives him a surprised look.

“What?” he asks, sheepish.

“Just, I mean. For you, that was pretty...eloquent, really,” Tobin smiles, a little meanly.

“I can be eloquent!” Alm protests.

Tobin scoffs, shaking his head. “In any case, uh...Are we...Do you want to...I mean, I don’t want to rush you but I really like you a lot, you know. And it’s cool if you don’t want to go out or you want to wait or-”

Alm kisses him again. It’s softer, somehow more practised. Maybe he’s just learned not to be quite so off with his angles.

“Yes,” Alm says as he pulls back, smiling softly at Tobin once more. “I would.”

Tobin’s heart is racing. He runs a hand through Alm’s hair, grinning. He’s never been happier. Never been more relieved. Never been more excited for something.

It wouldn’t have happened with anyone but Alm. He still feels like anybody else would’ve laughed in his face and dragged his reputation and his ego through the mud.

Luckily for him, Alm isn’t anyone else.

 

**Author's Note:**

> "fuck yeah i can brag to gray about how i got a royal partner and BEFORE him"  
> "tobin"  
> (if you ever want to talk to me about horrible gay fire emblem, message me @vapidmalefloozy on tumblr or @sludgeraptor for art stuff! im never not down to discuss the ram boys.)


End file.
